Story: Krisco

Chapter 1. Denial.

I stood there. Trying not to cry, staring at my dying grandmother, by the age of sixty-nine. Her pause beat slowly. My grandmother lay on the couch wheezing. The room smoke filled. “Grandma...are you okay...?” I dragged my hand threw my grandmother’s ash-white hair, breathing softly, as if I was scared I was going to pull it out, putting my hand on her arm, I gasped pulling my arm back, “Bloody hell, your freezing!” I spoke in a frighten voice. I turned around to go up the stairs to get a blanket for her.

“...Hill...” Abby spoke.

I turn around and my red hair falls over my eyes, “Yes grandma...?”

“...Come here child...” Her black eyes partly open.

I nodded my head as I walked slowly to my grandmother. “Ye-yes, grandma...?” I spoke quietly. “...When you go to my room, look for a box dressed up in gold under my bed...open it...there’s something in side...” I raised a brow, and looked at her with blue eyes staring out from behind thin-rimmed black glasses.

“...Grandma...?” I asked sitting back down on the couch. My eyes opened wide as I watched my grandmother die before me. She took one breath, and let it out, and then another and that was it. I moved my hand over my grandmother’s cold, pale, worn, face. I decided to do what my grandmother had said.

I sighed as I stood up and ran up the stairs tossing Abby’s covers over off her bed. Nothing was under there. I sigh as I get down on my stomach and move my hand all around under her bed, moving some papers and what not out of a pile. I raise a brow and my hand hits something that fells like wood. Searching through Abby’s dresser drawers for a flashlight, lucky, I found one that must have came from the eighties, it has a blue and white peace sign, and when I drop it, the batteries jiggle as it rolls on the floor. I bend down to pick it up. The light is in bad condition, but good enough to see what my hand hit. Shining the light on the wood, I look up then down, I can’t get to the bored. I look around and push the bed with my shoulder. It squeaks as it rolls on the wheels, against the wall.

I grunt as I try and pull the board back. It’s almost backing it just needs a hammer to go through it. I have no hammer, so I slam my fist on it and it breaks instantly and I smile along with a sigh.

It seems to be a necklace. Gold chain, blue and white stone. The chain is about the length of a dollar. The stone is as small as a quarter. I take my flash light and search under the bed some more. Pulling out a piece of paper with writing sprawled on it. “To whom ever reads this, I hope I’m dead a buried, this chain shall never be seen or used for any magical reasoning. This necklace holds many things which hare not even one person can under stand. Or have over someone... –Abigail B. Well–“

I roll my eyes as I fold it back up, “grandma you always were a load of crap most of the time.” It’s not like I don’t believe, I know I come from a ‘magical family’. My mother and father were magical. “Witch and Wizard” they’d always say. When I was going threw my thinking I’m Christian phase I called it an excuse to praise satin. Mom and dad never did like it when I said that to them. They would tell me to grow up and remember what our family was before I was born, the Wells. God, I hated when they said that. Our family history has to deal with great number of warlocks getting killed, stealing a necklace, which is probably what’s being told about in this letter. My hands play with the stone some. Then I open the clamp and put it around my neck. I pick up the box and stand up and start to walk out the door, but stop and turn around, setting the box in the dresser drawer. I think it’s time to call the corner.

I call and they say they will be there as soon as they can get all their instruments together. I sigh. What are they in a band, and going to play the marriage song while they stare at her? God, I’m so full of shit. I sit down on the front porch. My legs crossed over each other as they lay out in front of me, my hands keep my self up with out falling over on the cement. Some cars go by, and three people say hello to me, I faintly smile at them and nod my head.

Grandma and me just moved it about six weeks ago, and people are already saying “hello “ or “how you doin’ hot thang” and I usually just ignore them. But when a girl says Hello, I immediately blush and fell all awkward around them. Not much goes around in Salem. I’ve lived in Los Angles since I was sixteen, and then left for here, Salem, when I was Seven-teen, my birthday was celebrated in the back seat with crowed boxes, and country music, god I hate that music. So when I get to school, it’ll be my senior year. I wonder if I’ll meat anyone, I need some new fuck buddi-- I mean friends.

I play with the necklace grandma gave me. This necklace is so heavy it fells like I’m carrying a damn rock two times my size. I sludge down in, and just decided to lie down on the cold cement. When is the person going to come? I bet Sydney is munching on her arm. Damn, I full of shit. I sigh lightly.

End Of Chapter 1